


share the same space (see what will become of it)

by Suicix



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Community: wrestlingkink, Developing Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-22
Updated: 2015-07-22
Packaged: 2018-04-10 17:14:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4400417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suicix/pseuds/Suicix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyson's only problem with sharing hotel rooms is that Cesaro hardly seems to sleep - though maybe he can help out with that.</p><p>Written for <a href="http://wrestlingkink.dreamwidth.org/279.html?thread=216343#cmt216343">this</a> prompt at the wrestling kink meme on Dreamwidth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	share the same space (see what will become of it)

**Author's Note:**

> this took me so unreasonably long to write like i said i'd fill this prompt like a month and a half ago? but it's finally here now i guess. i'm not going to post it on the meme itself because the last time i tried to post a fill i messed up and it didn't post as a reply to the prompt itself so i'm cautious that that will happen again. either way, i hope the op finds this, even if it took a while!
> 
> in this ~universe~, tyson and natalya are not married/together so there is no polyamory (and certainly no infidelity) involved in this fic bUT i will be writing some more nattie/tyson/cesaro in future. maybe nattie and tyson previously had a relationship here but are still probably good friends???
> 
> a fill for this prompt:  
>  _Now that they're a tag team Cesaro and Tyson start rooming together so they can learn more about one another, but despite having his own bed Tyson always ends up in Cesaro's either hugging/spooning him. Author's choice if it leads to it being sexual._

The first time they share a room, Tyson is out within minutes. Maybe that’s not the best impression to give your new tag team partner who you’re rooming with because you want to get to know each other better, but Tyson is _tired_ , and more so than he’d usually be after RAW because it’s way past the time that he’d normally arrive at a hotel afterwards.

He wakes up early, though – too early. There’s no light to be seen through the crack in the blinds and his head is heavy, his mind groggy, and he can’t quite think in complete sentences just yet. Tyson turns over in his bed, slow and half tangled up in the duvet.

His eyes are barely even open, just slits, but he can still see the faint glow of a cell phone screen from the bed adjacent to his. Or, it should be faint – the screen’s brightness seems to be at its lowest setting – but to Tyson right now, it’s like the sun is staring him in the face from a few feet away.

“Cesaro?” he manages, voice slurred with sleep. “You’re... awake?”

“Well. Yes. And so are you.” Cesaro’s tone is blunt, plain. Tyson likes that about him: the way his words are delivered with the same precision and directness that his moves in the ring are.

Tyson hums. “Hardly,” he mumbles, and he doesn’t remember anything after that.

And he doesn’t remember anything because he fell asleep again, and thank God he did because otherwise he doesn’t think he could have got out of the bed. The first thing he sees when his eyes are open again – truly open, this time – is Cesaro pacing around the room, already dressed, already packed. He seems to light up when he notices Tyson’s awake.

“Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“Uh, yeah, thanks.” Tyson yawns against the back of his hand and actually sits up. “You?”

Cesaro shrugs. “As well as I ever do. You going to get up soon? We need to have breakfast before we start travelling to the arena for Smackdown.”

Cesaro, it turns out, is very serious about breakfast. The only thing more important than a balance of nutrients is coffee, which he seems to be able to drink limitlessly. Tyson watches in awe and slightly in fear.

They win their match that night. Hardly, though, because the Usos are exhausting and either Jimmy or Jey – whichever one of them wasn’t tagged in (Tyson doesn’t know, couldn’t tell) – was about to break the pin as the ref counted three.

So again, Tyson is worn out. Not as badly as last night though, in that he doesn’t want to pass out the moment his head meets the pillow. Instead, he and Cesaro do what they actually started sharing hotel rooms for: they talk. First it’s strategy, serious discussion as tag partners – what worked well in their match that evening and what they need to improve to stay on track for the tag titles – but then the conversation slips into more general things, almost everything under the sun, and it’s hours before they actually run out of things to say to one another.

Still, that doesn’t mean that Tyson isn’t stifling yawns into his hand, hoping that Cesaro realises that he’s yawning because he’s tired, not because he’s bored by the conversation.

“Time to sleep?” Cesaro wonders. Obviously he gets it – they really are beginning to understand each other. Tyson nods with a weary smile.

“ _You_ gonna actually get some sleep tonight?” he asks as he gets himself a little more settled into his bed.

“I might do,” is the response, but one look at Cesaro the next morning tells Tyson that if Cesaro did sleep, it wasn’t for very long.

“You can’t just survive on coffee, you know,” Tyson tells him after Cesaro orders another _large coffee, black_ but _to go this time,_ _please_ as they’re about to leave the diner they ate breakfast in. “You need to sleep as well. I thought you of all people, one of the most health conscious people I know, would understand that.”

“I don’t sleep well on the road. Never have, probably never will. It’s fine, though. I can catch up on sleep when I’m home, and in the meantime – coffee!” Cesaro takes one last sip from the cup of coffee he ordered with breakfast. When the second one comes, he thanks the waitress and takes the first drink from it almost immediately. Tyson can’t even begin to comprehend how that’s not too hot, but Cesaro seems to be unharmed by it.

The weeks pass by and they grow more as a team with every match, every show, every shared hotel room.

The weeks pass by and Cesaro still won’t sleep for more than a couple of hours a night. He seems to be actually trying, though – Tyson can hear the rustle of the sheets, can hear him tossing and turning, can hear the disgruntled sounds Cesaro makes when he thinks he’s comfortable but feels the need to move again.

Something has to be done about this. Sure, Cesaro might say that he sleeps fine when he’s at home, but they’re on the road for three hundred days a year. What’s left once that’s been taken away is nowhere near enough.

Careful not to trip over himself in the dark of the room (this hotel actually has blackout blinds – _incredible_ ), Tyson slips out from under his covers, and finds the edge of Cesaro’s bed to sit on.

“Hey,” he says, quiet, and he feels – but doesn’t see – Cesaro move close by.

“Tyson?” Cesaro whispers back. “I thought you were asleep?” There’s somewhat more of a tension in the air since Tyson’s joined him on the bed, but he’s not telling Tyson to get off and go back to his own, so Tyson stays next to him.

“Well. Sleeping’s got a bit difficult when I know you’re finding it tough, so...” He doesn’t know what exactly he’s going to say, or what exactly he thinks he’s doing, but he wants to help. That’s what tag partners are supposed to do, after all. Help each other.

“So... what? You’re not suggesting separate rooms again, are you? Because–”

“No, of course not! I want to help out. Leaving you all alone in a hotel room where you can’t sleep wouldn’t be helping out.”

“You don’t _need_ to help out. I’m fine. Really, Tyson, you don’t need to. I’ve managed like this my whole career and I can carry on. You... you really don’t need to worry about me.”

“I am worried, though. Like, if you don’t sleep enough you can’t perform at your best. And I mean, OK, you at like, sixty percent or whatever is better than what most of the roster would be at one hundred and ten percent, but this is a team effort. As we’re a tag team, it’s our job to make sure we’re both the best we can be. We’re doing well, we’re doing _great_ , but... think of how much better we could do. We could win the tag titles so much sooner.”

Silence, and for a split second Tyson’s scared that Cesaro’s going to burst out on him – some proclamation of how this _is_ his best and that they’re doing well enough as it is – but that seems to be enough to do it for Cesaro.

“If you absolutely must, then,” he says, and he shifts across the bed so Tyson can fit next to him.

They lie there for a while with no words between them.

“You should... you should turn onto your side.”

“Hm?” Cesaro’s eyes flicker from where he’d been looking at – _well_ , nothing, probably – to Tyson.

“If you wanna actually get to sleep, y’know. So I can, uh, hold you. Turn over.”

Cesaro does. Tyson moves closer so he’s pressed up against Cesaro’s bare back, and he drapes an arm over Cesaro, keeping his hold loose.

“This OK?”

“As long as you don’t end up giving me a bear hug in your sleep, it’s fine.”

“Good.” The word is whispered against Cesaro’s neck, practically into his ear, and Tyson thinks Cesaro _shivers_ a little. He tightens his arm; it’s not so much just slung over Cesaro now but actually pressing into him, then slowly stroking down his side. It’s – it’s nice. He hopes Cesaro thinks so too.

The plan _was_ to stay awake to make sure that Cesaro actually did get some sleep, but Tyson finds himself drifting before he even notices any change in Cesaro’s breathing. He tried – he really did – but somehow sleep got the better of him and he wakes up without knowing if Cesaro managed to get to sleep all right.

Or – not quite. He wakes up, and Cesaro is actually there, _beside him_ , and... sound asleep? He’s not moving, at least: just lying there still and silent. He’s breathing heavily enough, though.

Tyson figures they can wait a few minutes like this before actually getting out of bed. _He_ certainly can, anyway. He’s not sure what Cesaro will think when he wakes up and they’ve got less than an hour to make sure they’re totally packed up and ready to go, but he’s _comfortable_. Plus, he wants Cesaro to catch as much sleep as he needs.

The Cesaro that wakes up next to him, though: Tyson’s a little shocked by it. Already he’s practically springing out of bed to get up, and this is without coffee first. It could be because they’re a little later than usual, but it could also be because he actually got a good night’s sleep.

Even in the ring, he’s – well. Tyson wouldn’t say he’s a _changed man_ , because Cesaro was always very good anyway, always excellent anyway. But already he seems sharper, more focused, and they win their match more easily than almost any time before.

It gets to their hotel room again, gets to them winding down and ready to go to bed.

“You wanna share?” Tyson asks, a little hesitant. “Like – like last night?”

“Sure.” The response comes quicker than he thought it would, and Tyson pretends not to be too thrilled even though he isn’t exactly sure _why_ he’s so worked up about it. Whatever. He dismisses the feeling and climbs in next to Cesaro, though – there it is again, that... that _rush_ , almost. Maybe it’s just the fact that he’s just able to _do_ something, finally being of use to someone after sitting out injured for a year or so. Whatever. That could be it. It probably is. He slips into the bed, his arms around Cesaro again, and they fall into this routine of only leaving one unmade bed in the rooms when they leave.

Soon, it shouldn’t even be a matter of needing to ask, but Tyson does every time, just in case Cesaro doesn’t want him there. Cesaro _does_ want him there, though: he answers with a yes each night and lets Tyson wrap his arms around him.

It’s the last night of hotels before a couple of nights at home, and Tyson is grateful for it, though no part of being thankful about it has anything to do with Cesaro. He’s grown a little used to sleeping in the same bed as Cesaro, to having Cesaro there as a vital part of why he wants to leave the bed even less in the mornings.

He still does ask, though. Just to make sure.

“So, you, uh – you up for sharing again? I mean, in case you just end up lying awake without me...”

“You don’t even need to use that as an excuse anymore,” Cesaro says, and he gestures for Tyson to join him.

Tyson settles in beside Cesaro, lying on his side like he usually does. Cesaro stays as he is – facing Tyson.

“Aren’t you gonna turn over? Like normally?”

Cesaro shakes his head. “No, not... not yet, anyway.”

“Well, don’t you wanna sleep? By now you’ve gotta be used to going to sleep in the same position every night, so...”

A chuckle, and a... fond? – is it fond? – smile from Cesaro.

“I don’t think the position had much to do with what was helping me get to sleep.”

“Uh.” Tyson’s at a loss of what to say; Cesaro’s watching him so intently – _intensely_ , even – and truthfully, he feels a little thrown off by it. He doesn’t know what that... that _look_ in Cesaro’s eyes means.

Thankfully Cesaro elaborates, though it still does little to actually help Tyson make much sense of what had just been said.

“I think it’s just you, really.”

“M-me?”

“Yes, you. Oui, ja, sì. How many more languages do you need me to tell you that in? _Yes_.”

This time Tyson doesn’t respond at all, just lies there gaping at Cesaro, sure he looks absolutely astounded because that’s how he _feels_.

“Honestly, Tyson...” Cesaro chuckles a little and his eyes flit away from Tyson’s for a moment, a little bashfully, perhaps, though Tyson’s never known Cesaro to be bashful and can’t imagine why he would be, and–

And Cesaro kisses him.

There’s a moment where Tyson’s overwhelmed by it, where he just freezes and can’t even think of how to react, but then he actually starts processing it and – Cesaro’s kissing him. Cesaro. Him.

He’s kissing back before he knows it, before he’s even able to come to the conclusion that this might just have been what he’s wanted all along, might have been why he was almost unreasonably excited when Cesaro approached him to start a tag team, not just because of the fact that Cesaro’s an incredible wrestler. He’s sure he finds himself unconsciously _deepening_ the kiss, but Cesaro pulls back before Tyson can do that.

“Are you all right? Was that... was that OK with you?”

Again Tyson’s just staring, eyes wide, but – “Yeah,” he finds himself saying, because hell: _he was kissing back_. So it must be OK with him, mustn’t it? He’s pretty sure it is, anyway.

He might not have realised it was even there beforehand, but it feels like some great anchor’s been lifted from him. He leans across to kiss Cesaro again, gently now, just to make sure, and – floating. Definitely. Not weighed down by anything.

“Hey.” There’s Cesaro’s breath against his lips, ever so close, and Cesaro’s smiling at him again. This time, Tyson can pretty much tell that it’s fond. At least a little. Tyson hopes it is. “You turn over this time.”

Tyson does, and Cesaro’s arms wrap around him, strong and warm and everything he needs. Everything he’s been needing, whether he actually realised it or not.

(The next time they share a bed isn’t even in a hotel room – it’s Tyson’s own bed back at home, and then Cesaro’s. After that, it’s not long before they stop booking rooms with two beds altogether.)


End file.
